


In the Shadow of Malachor V, a KOTOR story

by revanmeetra87



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revanmeetra87/pseuds/revanmeetra87
Summary: Near the end of the Mandalorian Wars, Revan has a new assignment for Meetra. How will she react? This story is set at the Battle of Malachor V. Depending on the feedback, I may expand it. Slightly Meetra x Bao-Dur if you squint





	

**Author's Note:**

> One note first, please keep in mind i wrote this years ago as a canon compliant work to go with the Revan novel. I myself did not care for Meetra's portrayal in that book (or TOR, if we are being honest), but I wanted it to be in-line with canon. This is just a warning that if you did not enjoy how her character was presented post - Kotor 2, you might not enjoy. Just a fair warning! Thanks guys

Meetra stepped onto the bridge of Revan's command ship, looked around expectantly, then sighed.

Of course, Revan being Revan, he _would_ summon her from the ground during a very important surge against the Mandalorians—only to not show up at the rendezvous himself. The bridge was empty, save the Captain and a few officers.

“Couldn’t even have Alek meet me to send his regards,” Meeta muttered, which caught the attention of a dark-haired human lieutenant who was standing off to the side, behind a holochart of the galaxy.

“Well, both Alek and whoever you're waiting for sure missed out. I'm here, though,” he boasted, delivering the line with a wide smile.

The incredible breech of protocol actually made her forget for a moment why she was there. True, she was wearing plain robes, and not her armor, but -

“You are on the bridge of a Republic starship, Lieutenant Rand, not a cantina on Nar Shadda. And that isn't some Zeltron dancer, that is General Surik. Show some respect, then get out of my sight,” barked the voice of Captain Ivor, who was striding from the helm.

Lieutenant Rand stopped short, glancing incredulously at Meetra. She could almost see what he was thinking. _“Some twenty year old_ kid _is Revan's ground forces leader?”_

At least Meetra was used to it.

Drawing himself up, Rand quickly apologized, then hastened from the bridge.

“You'll have to forgive my crew, General,” Captain Ivor said tightly. “Ever since Serroco, we've been rebuilding the fleet, and the recruits are obviously....very raw.”

Meetra nodded. Serroco was not something she wished to discuss. “Revan summoned me here. Do you know if he is on board?” _Or even in this system?_ Something was distracting Revan of late. She'd have to be a fool not to see it. _What could be more important than the war?_ And why couldn’t he tell her about it?

“He is indeed on the ship. He asked me to let you know he'd be a few minutes late. He's speaking with the Chancellor about the ground campaign.”

“Did he say -”

“Meetra,” came a voice from behind her; familiar – and, in the past year, all too foreign. “I sensed your arrival. Come with me, we need to talk.”

“Revan.” Meetra turned. “I was just speaking to the Captain. Perhaps -”

“Come,” Revan repeated, and she saw that he wasn't wearing his mask – possibly for the sake of his conversation with the Chancellor. However, his other accessory, Malak, was still at his side.

“What are you waiting for?” demanded the taller, tattooed Jedi. “We _are_ are in the middle of a war.”

Malak's sense of humor seemed to have disappeared along with his hair, Meetra decided.

“Malak, you're going to wait here on the bridge until the meeting between General Surik and I has concluded,” Revan stated.

“But-”

Despite the objection, Malak stayed where he was as Revan began walking off the bridge. As always, Meetra was right at his heels.

Following.

Because, even as Malak was Revan's right hand, Meetra was Revan's shadow.

 

 

“The weapon.”

“Weapon?” Meetra lifted an eyebrow as she settled onto a couch in Revan's quarters. He took the couch across from it.

“Your tech. You claimed he was some sort of genius engineer.”

She couldn't help the light smile that creased her face. “He is.” Running her thumb along the arm of the couch, Meetra then frowned. “How did you hear about the...the weapon?”

“This is my war.”

The words slithered under Meetra's skin, rooting in her heart. Digging at her most stalwart notions. The ones that whispered _I followed Revan here because he was good_ when she doubted him, and _he still is good, a hero, which makes me good_ when she doubted herself. The ones that encouraged _nothing had changed_ when she wiped the dirt and blood from her hands after a battle, and _someday I_ _can go back home_ when she felt lost and alone in her tent at night. And, maybe most importantly, _we are still Jedi_ after she had sent even more men to die.

Wearily, Meetra dropped her head. Revan's war. She not only wanted to deny it, she _needed_ to. _“This is the Republic's war. We are only here to assist.”_

But she knew better. Revan was stronger than her -as always – and had said it aloud.

Eyes drifting to the side, she stared through the viewplane at the stars, until she felt Revan's gloved hand under her chin, lifting it so she'd be forced to lock gazes with him.

“You still think you're a Jedi?” he asked softly. As if he had read her mind.

Meetra pulled away, stunned. He'd done it again. It was one thing to think it, and _so_ much more dangerous to say it. “Aren't we?” she asked, just as quietly. _If we aren't, than what are we?_

“We?” he echoed, and she jolted away. For a moment, his dark eyes seemed empty.

Then he blinked, as if focusing. “Meetra, about the weapon. Is it operational?”

Months ago, she would have answered truthfully, and without hesitation. This man sitting across from her, with the mask in his hands, was a stranger. "Like I said, my tech is a genius engineer," Meetra evaded.

Revan gripped his mask with both hands and shook his head in a rare display of frustration, dark hair whipping against his neck. “I just wish you could _see_ -”

She waited, but he left the thought unfinished. “Revan,” she began slowly. Meetra knew it was foolish. They were supposed to be planning how to save the galaxy, for star's sake. “What is going on? You can tell me.” Now that she'd started, she couldn’t stop. The tone of her voice switched from kind and understanding to angry, raspy. “You think I don't know something's different? That _you're_ different?”

_He was, and that might mean she was too._

“What's going on? I know it's more than just the war.” _He thrived on the war, grew from it. Whatever he was withholding was draining him. If he became nothing, the galaxy would implode with him._

“You've brought me this far,” _You, it's 'you' now, why did I ever think it was we?_ “and now you're just cutting me out. Why? I think by now I’ve earned the truth from you.”

“You've earned _more_...”

And honestly she couldn't tell if he'd said it or if it had come from her own mind.

“Forget about the weapon, Meetra,” Revan said after a long, unsettling silence. “I...We won't need it. I have an alternate plan to discuss with you. One that I believe can win this war, for good. In just one more battle.”

A stifling, desperate feeling of hope smothered her reply.

Smiling stiffly, Revan asked, “Don't you believe me?”

Of course she did. Because if anybody could win a war in one battle, it was him. “Where? On which planet should I deploy my troops?”

“You're not going to be _on_ any planet.”

 

 

 

Bao-Dur smiled to himself as he saw his General walk back into the camp. He didn't know where she'd gone, and it wasn't his place to ask, but she seemed...different.

Normally, her presence drew others to her; soldiers would drift and swirl around her like embers dancing around a fire while she moved through camp, but now -

She looked alone and very...small. Human.

He was so caught up in watching her it took him a while to realize she was walking towards _him._

Setting the hydrospanner he was holding down on his portable workbench, he straightened. “General Surik,” he said, saluting.

The General quickly saluted back. “Bao-Dur. I need to speak to you, please. In private.”

The tech blinked in confusion. Certainly she'd consulted him before, but only a few quick words at a time, which were mostly related to repairs. He was actually surprised she remembered his name. “Of course, Ma'am,” he said.

Then he was following her, picking his way across the camp, hoping against hope nobody pocketed his quality hydrospanner while he was gone.

They arrived in front of her tent, and Meetra quickly pressed her thumb against a scanner attached to its side. The entrance to the tent unsealed, and she walked inside. Bao-Dur ducked inside after her.

Before his eyes had even fully adjusted to the generated lights, Meetra had resealed the tent and turned to face him, expression grim. “What I am about to tell you cannot leave here.”

“Yes, General,” he assured her immediately, bemused.

Voice clipped, she said, “No, Bao-Dur. I need you to understand this fully. This could win or lose the war for us. Can I trust you?” Her blue eyes caught his and held them so intensely, he felt as if she was trying to see past them, right into his head for the truth of his answer.

“General, when the Mandalorians began attacking the Republic, they began with Iridonian colonies. My people were butchered. I would like to extend _them_ the same courtesy.” He caught his breath, remembering that she was a Jedi and surely wouldn't approve of the dark concept of vengeance. Choosing his next words cautiously, he said, “I will do whatever it takes to stop them.”

She studied him for a heartbeat, no longer, but in that gaze he read surprise and just a bit of sadness. For some strange reason, he felt as though he'd let her down. “I believe that.” Her shoulders slumped slightly.

Bao-Dur waited.

“There is a world that is taboo to the Mandalorians,” the General began at last, folding her arms. “Revan is...Revan has a plan. To stop them.”

“Taboo...what do you mean by that?” Bao-Dur asked, baffled. Never had he heard of anything to stymie the Mandos psychologically.

“I don't understand it myself,” she admitted. “All I know is that they cannot step on the surface of Malachor V. For any reason. Revan wants to exploit this.”

Toying with the straps of his work gloves, Bao-Dur asked, “How?”

“He asked me to take the majority of the Republic fleet and park it above the planet.” She began chuckling. “He knows they will be unable to resist...and unable to deploy. They will bring their fleet to us.”

Bao-Dur was no tactician, but he knew there had to be more to it. “And then?”

“Revan will stay with the rest of the fleet a short jump away. When the Mando flagship arrives, I will contact him, he'll bring the cavalry, and we will end it.”

The plan made sense. Everybody knew that if the Mandalorians had a weakness, it was its naval forces. “General, with respect...why are you sharing this with me?” And why, he had to wonder, was Revan placing Meetra in charge of the Republic _fleet_? He had nothing but respect for his General; but, like the Mandalorians, ground battles were her specialty.

Her eyes seemed to grow paler. “Bao-Dur, the weapon you were developing. I know it is designed to destroy planets, but...if it were activated, say, in the space _around_ a planet, what would happen?”

“I...” The scientist in him took over, and he rambled along. “I believe that it would cause irreversible damage to the planet, and completely destroy any starships in the vicinity.”

“Is it...finished?” She seemed afraid to hear the answer. He'd told her before. He knew she remembered.

He almost told her something different this time. But every one of those Mandalorian beasts needed to die. “Yes.”


End file.
